Return to Campus
By Don Iannone

Eyes closed, sitting
while my uplifted face fills with Tucson sun
on a warm December morning.
Mind wondering back...to 1969,
when I was here before.
A U of A student then, and
still a student, and
always a student...of life.
Innocent then. Well maybe not
as much so as I think.
Young then, and full of myself, and yes
still somewhat full of myself, but
now older and filled with other aspects of life.
It's magical to sit in the same place
you sat 37 years ago, observing life
from a different place in life's river.
It's wonderful to be reminded
on a park bench on campus
that your soul is still young.

Re-Embracing Tucson
By Don Iannone



















To see yet again the olive-brown Catalina Mountains
sweetly embrace the powder blue sky
and maze-colored Sonoran desert.
To behold a fire red sunset at Gates Pass,
making my heart soar as the sun sinks,
and spreading magical stardust on the Old Pueblo.
To smell the sweet pungent sage and palo verdes
after a short afternoon rainshower.
To feel the sacred earth under my feet;
walked so long ago by the ancient ones,
and even now feel their mystical energy.
To return to Tucson one more time and re-embrace
what has long been a part of my soul.

When Catalina Eyes Touch You
By Don Iannone

Soulful arisings overflow within me,
while standing before the sage-brown Catalina Mountains,
that stare back with soft reassuring eyes.
These eyes say "you are a part of it all,
celebrate this union, and
welcome the sudden transforming beauty
drifting through this very moment."
To call all this magical
seems to rob Tucson of its real feel--
so quiet, deep, beckoning,
and warm as the early morning sun,
giving the desert its rich colors and sharp shadows.
How can you deny who you really are
when something so powerful touches you?

Reconnecting with the Tucson Part of Me
By Don Iannone

Long eventful week,
The sort filling your soul
with transforming memories,
Tucson, for now, is behind me,
but far from forgotten.

All returns in life
are about remembering,
Tucson was a fond return,
helping me remember--
a forever important part of myself.

Sitting in the slowly awakening Tucson airport,
early morning luminosity fills me,
My soul rises,
Cloud-like dreams drift away,
carrying me back home to Cleveland.

I long for an old part of myself
to stay alive forever,
Tucson is a part of it, and me,
But even more,
the eternal flame of youth cries out in my soul.

A Return to Tucson
By Don Iannone

Tucson,
Late August,
Rain,
Blistering sun,
Hot,
More rain,
Scorching sun,
Even hotter.

So begins--
the long
and almost lost replay
of earlier wild poetic adventures,
Just the sort of thing
for a hopelessly romantic 50-something
still possessed by good times,
fun friends,
and rock and roll.

Where did it all go?
The years,
The dancing,
and carrying on till two,
Pulling all those all-nighters
to write papers
and cram for exams,
All those candles--
burning out of control,
Wild flames--
shooting in all directions,
Tethered to roller coasters,
everyday was an adventure.

Life-shaping memories--
seemingly lost,
but then...
rushing back,
like the Columbia River Gorge,
while just standing there
at the sage-scented,
date palm-lined entrance
of the U of A campus.

I saw myself then--
back in 1969,
and now--
yes especially now,
My smile hasn't changed.
Deep down,
the same spark burns--
well into the night,
illuminating the path
I must follow.

All gray hair aside,
it's all the same--
inside me,
nothing has changed--
inside me.
And guess what?
I'm glad.

Existential Tucson
By Don Iannone

Reality falls heavy upon me,
like the trenchant rays of Arizona sunshine,
penetrating the existential being
hibernating deep inside me.
Even the gentle parched breeze,
blowing magical stardust
into my wistful wandering eyes,
can't stop what the sun has started.
I may never be the same again,
but then, what was I ever,
but a faint hopeful glimmer
in the numinous father's eye.

Tucson Brush Strokes
By Don Iannone

Nothing hides the searing hot sun
at noon in June in Tucson,
where the maize-colored desert sand
befriends the olive-green sagebrush,
and the gangly octopus-armed saguaro
stretch lazily in powder blue sky,
and where ragged dull gray-green mountains
cradle you in their powerful arms,
while the old pueblo sleeping inside you
slowly melts back into its original abode.

This
By Don Iannone

It flows through me
...and all other things.
There is but one--
consciousness.
Nothing separate
...or distinct
...to ponder, struggle with
...fix, or integrate.
In its presence I sit
...before a Tucson sunrise--
an extravagent display of light
...that sweeps through me
...and carries me away
...from all feelings of separateness.
I am nothing
...that all isn't as well
...and nothing is that I'm not.
We are here for one another
...and because of one another
...but not in the sense
...of there being a separate you or me
...but in the sense we are part of one.
We can't understand it all
...but there is nothing to understand
...once we know we are it.
We need only be in its presence.
It's a sense.
...you get sometimes
...and sometimes you don't.
When you realize your presence in it
...there is only "this."
Not "this" or "that."
Only "this."

From Tucson with Mary
sitting in the presence of the sun.